I deemed
in everything beautiful.
I saw the dust trough the sun
and I notice the glitter.
I saw the eyes,
so damp and vague
and felt the beauty in tears.
I saw him,
in tattered clothes, ragged self,
and his misery seems so dear.
Art, a lie;
It can't show me the real.
Art, a facade,
Now I want to unhide the rear.
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